The Devil's Smile

Chapter 41

Moras didn't know how to respond to that. She couldn't be real. He was having some kind of dream. Without a word he moved back up her body and kissed her. His lips pressing insistently against hers, his tongue searching her mouth. Amina wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down onto her.

Amina felt his hard, thick, shaft press against her. She thought she might go crazy if he continued torturing her like this. Moras's lips moved from her mouth and he kissed and gently bit his way along her jaw to her neck, breathing her scent in and losing himself to her. He felt her hips writhe against him. Moras's c**k began to grow slick with Amina's pleasure as she squirmed beneath him.

If he hadn't been near giving her what she wanted he would have given in when Amina turned her head, her lips a breath from his ear, and whispered "please."

Moras pulled away from her again so that he could watch her face as he entered her. Her eyes glowed with intense passion. Her breathing was ragged. There was a sheen of sweat beginning to cover her skin. Moras reached between them, took his c**k in hand, and brought it to her entrance. He couldn't keep the soft smile from his lips as his angel looked down to watch him enter her. There was a strange innocent curiosity on her face.

The thought was matter-of-fact when it solidified in his mind .I'm in love. The smile slid from his lips at the realization. Slowly, watching her, Moras began to push into her. After only a couple inches Amina let her head fall back, her eyes close, and her breath caught in her chest. Moras couldn't of anything more beautiful in the whole of his life.

Amina moaned as the last of Moras's c**k was buried in her trembling body. When Moras began to move against her with slow deliberate strokes, soft gasps and whimpers were forced from her lips. Moras tried to memorize each sound, gauging what she liked best from the different noises that his thrusts rang from her body. She seemed lost to the passion and she was exquisite to see. Nothing else in the world existed beyond that bed.

Amina felt the heat and need growing in intensity as he thrust faster and harder into her. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her back arched and her body on fire, Amina felt the passion explode in her like nothing she had ever felt before.

Moras could see how close she was. He fleetingly thought that it was watching her and not the act that was bringing him to the edge. When he felt her cunt tighten and begin to spasm around his c**k he fell over the edge as well, releasing into her.

Moras couldn't stop staring at Amina as she calmed from their passion. It was as if blinking was too much time lost. The small pleased, satisfied smile on her face. Her eyes looking back at him with a shy wonder. Her skin hot from exertion, covered in sweat, and blushing red under his gaze. She was perfect. But he couldn't help wonder how long this could possibly last.

It's time, Moras thought, standing outside the heavy door that was closed on Rebecca's room so long ago. He rarely ventured into that space. Walking down the hall ghostly memories assaulted him, reaching into his mind from the hanging cobwebs. As he reached the main room he could almost see her sitting at the corner table, sewing. She was always sewing. And the room always smelled of cooking stew.

"Moras," Rebecca looked up from the pile of material in her lap that would eventually be a dress. The one she was wearing hung loosely from her frame. She didn't seem to notice that she had lost so much weight. "I was starting to get worried. It's been days." She laid the dress carefully on the table and virtually ran across the room into his arms.

"Easy, easy," he teased, holding her gently. "I'm in pretty bad shape this time." Though, even in my worst shape, you're too withered to cause me any real pain. Moras buried the thought in the back of his mind. It was easy enough to do, considering she never acknowledged the darker side of their existence. Why should he?

Emerald green eyes stared up at him with concern. Rebecca pushed him away from herself and looked him over. "What's wrong?"

"Same thing that's always wrong," he sighed. He hated what he did to Rebecca when he returned more than he hated assassinating the poor fools he was sent to kill. At least this time he wasn't so far gone that he attacked her without warning. "I'm weak. I need to feed."

"Is that all?" Rebecca smiled. Her lips were still rose petal pink, though her face was gaunt and pale. "I have stew cooking. It will be ready soon. Sit down. I'll get some bread and cheese for now." Moras allowed her to guide him to the bed and sat down. She stroked her hand over his forehead, brushing his hair back from his face. Kissing him gently on the cheek she stepped back from him and disappeared to the hall toward the pantry.

Moras breathed heavily. He could feel the blood lust building. Body aching with the need, he knew he wouldn't be able to play house as long as Rebecca wanted. He felt obligated to participate in the farce for some time before taking from her.

Rebecca reappeared from the hallway with bread and cheese in hand as well as a bottle of wine. Humming happily to herself, she took the food to the table, produced a couple plates and some cups. In short order she managed to set a pleasant table. It was all he could do to not fall upon her as she worked.

"Come over here and have something to eat," she called.

Moras forced himself to his feet and went to the table. With the air of a faithful wife preparing a meal for her loving and devoted husband, Rebecca served the bread and cheese, poured Moras some wine, and went to the hearth to check on the stew. More than a little concerned, Moras realized that she looked much more skeletal than the last time he was in her rooms. Has she eaten anything, he wondered. He had noticed that she only ate when he was in her rooms. That alone spurred him to visit her much more often than he used to.

Rebecca pulled the stew pot from the wrought iron hook over the fire. "I think it may be cooked well enough." She smiled up at him and Moras noticed another tooth was missing.

She'll not survive another feeding, he realized. She's too fragile. His stomach turned. Moras briefly considered leaving and seeing if he could find a worthy blood donor in one of the nearby cities. I pledged to never do that. If he did and was caught then the druids would end their relationship with him. I'd never be able to live feeding off of people that way. I'm monster enough like this.

"How was business in the city, my love?" Innocence and love stared at him from the emerald glow in her eyes. Those eyes were the only part of her that wasn't showing the wear of the past decade.

Moras had even grown used to her strange questions. "I accomplished everything I was sent to do," he replied without pausing.

"I'm so proud of you. How many women have husbands as successful as mine?" Rebecca virtually glowed with pride.

Moras leaned across the table, took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on her palm. As his lips touched her skin, his senses fired. He could hear her pulse and smell the blood flowing through the veins in her wrist. Feeling his body begin to shift, he closed his eyes and tried to calm the beast within, but he knew that he was losing this battle.

"Rebecca, take off your clothes and get into bed." His voice was tinged with the guttural demon tone that instilled fear in so many would be conquerors.

"But you haven't touched your stew," Rebecca responded playfully, as if she didn't see or hear the change in him. "Isn't it a bit early for such games?"

Moras wasn't able to cope with her teasing this time. "Just do as you're told," he growled. It took all the will power he had to keep from raising his eyes to hers. The last time she looked directly into the black sockets, she fainted and didn't recover for over a week.

Nearly in tears at his tone, Rebecca stood quickly and went to the bed. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't," he snapped, stopping the apology. The last thing I need is for her to start apologizing again. "Do as you're told." Guild washed through him as he got up and put out the lights around the room, refusing to even glance in her direction. I'll make it up to her in the morning, he told himself. Swishing material sounds told him that Amina was following his order.

Moras turned toward the bed. He could see her in the darkness feeling her way onto the bed. Removing his own clothing, he watched her crawl to the middle of the bed and lay down on her back.

Rebecca stared blindly into the darkness. "Moras?" Fear and uncertainty were growing in the pit of her stomach. I've done this before. Somewhere in the back of Amina's mind a vision of fangs and empty black eye sockets sent a shockwave of terror through her body.

Standing next to the bed in the darkness, Moras could hear the sobbing begin. He knew the progression by heart. In a few moments the crying would stop, the room would fall deadly quiet, and Rebecca would black out. Each second was palpable as he waited for her breathing to even out. Watching her through the pitch black, abject terror on her face, he considered ending it for her. In her state of mind, Rebecca would never ask for death. Her denial was too complete. There were only these brief instances, just before he fed on her, when lucidity overcame her fantasy and she remembered what he was.

Finally, her trembling stilled, her heartbeat slowed, her breathing became shallow, and the last of the tears ran down her cheeks. Blank void was all that could be seen in her eyes. Moras crawled up the bed next to her. Gently he ran his fingers over her face, closing her eyes.

Taking her in his arms, she felt even smaller than she appeared. Moras cradled Rebecca close to his chest and bent over her, biting her neck where her pulse seemed strongest. Warm blood flowed into his mouth, with each heartbeat. Careful to not take any more than necessary, Moras only barely sated his hunger. Setting Rebecca on her pillow, he lay down next to her and gathered her into his arms. Moras knew that when Rebecca woke, she wouldn't remember any of this. She would sigh happily and cuddle against him as if they were lovers and nothing was amiss. Then she would make him breakfast and force him to eat it.

A crack of thunder caught his attention and he looked to the open shaft in the ceiling. Rebecca's room was the only room, other than his, in the caverns that had a shaft to the surface. He couldn't remember if the door on the shaft in his room was shut. Briefly he considered getting up and going to make sure. A ledge above the shaft in Amina's room prevented the rain from streaming into her room. The shaft in his room couldn't claim such a luxury, and he knew that the rain barrel wasn't under the shaft. Moras started to pull away from Rebecca to go deal with the problem, but a small whimper stopped him.

Moras sighed, accepting that the carpet in his room may be soaked through by the time he got there. Some things are more important, he thought. Eventually, the sound of thunder, rain, and Rebecca's heartbeat lulled him into a fitful sleep.

Blood running in rivulets down the shaft in his room and pooling on the floor plagued his dreams. Cold dead brown eyes stared at him as his latest victim relived his slaughter while Moras slept. He found himself walking away from the blood filled room and ghostly body. As he opened the door to his rooms, he walked out of the caverns into the clearing at the main entrance. Sunlight blazed down on him, searing his exposed skin. Ignoring the pain he walked to the stone altar at the center of the fenced clearing to find a pile of parchment papers. So many papers covered the altar that they overflowed the edges and fell to the ground. He knew these papers well. Lifting one of the scraps of parchment, he read the name on it, then another. Some of the names were that of the men he had assassinated since coming to work for the druids. Other papers held the names of the women who had died in his service. Some of the names were unfamiliar to him, but he instinctively knew that the names belonged to dead people. Maybe they were the names of the faceless bystanders who were killed during his missions. Perhaps they were family or friends of the others he had killed. Either way, the papers were too numerous to count. A breeze from the mouth of the cave blew the papers off the altar. They flew into the sky and disappeared into the trees at the edge of the clearing. One paper remained on the altar. Moras's hands trembled, as he lifted the paper and read the name scrawled on it. Rebecca.

When Moras's eyes opened he already knew she was dead. Her body was still warm, but there was no heartbeat. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. He lay there holding her for so long sunlight began to threaten at the mouth of the shaft. At last, he got out of the bed, refusing to look at the body he left behind. For days Moras refused to enter her rooms. He didn't want to face the task of taking her to the altar in the clearing. He didn't want a replacement. In the end, he turned off all feeling he had left, walked into the bedroom, wrapped the body in a blanket from the bed and carried her out of the caverns.